


Wounded soldiers

by Coriaria



Series: The love of damaged men [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody Lives, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blow Jobs, Community: hp_crossgenfest, Cross-Generation Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Past Relationship(s), Remus Lupin Lives, Retirement, Severus Snape Lives, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriaria/pseuds/Coriaria
Summary: Rufus Scrimgeour gave it only three days. Fred Weasley gave it a week. Charity Burbage, who knew Severus Snape better than any of them, gave it eleven days. Ted Tonks predicted they would last two weeks, while his daughter, who held Moody in higher regard than her father did, gave it three weeks. Remus Lupin was rather more generous, suggesting that they would find they had a lot in common, and that Moody and Snape would be able to share a room for at least five weeks. Bathilda Bagshot gave a vacant smile, and said Alastor Moody and Severus Snape would make a lovely couple. But she was one hundred and eighty seven years old, and completely senile. Or maybe she wasn’t…





	Wounded soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> Post second war AU. Basically, none of the good guys died in Deathly Hallows. Instead, they've ended up in a convalescent/ rehabilitation hospital. Thanks so much to my very helpful beta, williamsnickers and to the mods for their patience with my late submission.

1.  
"No. Absolutely not. No way. Not a snowball’s chance up a dragon’s arse."

"I’m sorry, Mr Moody, but–"

"Don’t you ‘Mr Moody’ me. I’m not sharing a room with a Death Eater and that’s final. Put him somewhere else."

The Healer gave a pained sigh.

"Mr Moody, there isn’t anywhere else. Our little unit is full to the brim."

"Move someone then. Give him Scrimgeour’s room and we can share."

"You shared with Mr Scrimgeour previously, Mr Moody, remember? You complained about his snoring. That’s why he’s in a single room now."

"What about Ted Tonks?"

"If you remember, that wasn’t successful either. He tried to hex you."

"Ah, he was never going to do me any harm, I’m far too experienced for him. And he was just upset because he found out I’d slept with his daughter. He’s over that now, surely. What about Weasley? I’m sure Lupin would be willing to share with Snape."

"Mr Moody! We’ve been more than accommodating to you. It was your choice to have a twin room, yet you’ve been unable to share with anyone we have placed with you. And no, we are absolutely not putting young Mr Weasley in with you. I’m afraid you are just going to have put up with Mr Snape, and I don’t want to hear another word about it."

The woman had a mulish look on her face, and Moody knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing with her. She didn’t get it. The single rooms were tiny and being in one reminded Moody of being jammed into a box. And it had been decades since Moody had slept in the same room as another person. He had shared a bed, certainly, but he never let down his guard and actually slept with anyone there.

Moody was going to have to wait until her boss visited and try talking to her. The head Healer had struck Moody as being much more amenable to his charms and he was pretty sure he could talk her around. He gave the Healer a scowl and dragged himself from the chair, stumping from the room.

As he flopped down into another chair in the lounge, Lupin, looking far too cheerful as usual, levitated a cup of tea his way. Moody wrapped his hands around it and took a burning, soothing sip.

"Have you heard who’s coming to join us, Alastor?"

Moody gave a grunt.

"Severus. They’re finally releasing him from St Mungo’s. He’s still quite ill apparently, but finally on the mend. It will be nice to see him again."

Moody glanced up, wondering for a moment if the werewolf had lost his mind. No, there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, knowing very well that Moody would not welcome the former spy’s presence.

"You bastard, Lupin."

The werewolf raised one eyebrow. He had suffered curse damage which paralysed him down one side. As a result, his speech was slightly slurred, his smile crooked, and when he raised his eyebrows only one moved. The paralysis also meant that he couldn’t walk and, because the damage was on his right side, he was also having to relearn how to use his wand left-handed. 

As a result, he had been sent from St Mungo’s to the Dilys Derwent Magical Rehabilitation and Convalescence Clinic, along with Moody, Rufus Scrimgeour, Ted Tonks, Charity Burbage and other assorted survivors who had suffered serious injuries.

"Did I hear you say Snape’s coming here?" Scrimgeour asked, looking up from the table where he was reading the _Daily Prophet_.

"Yes, I’ve heard he’s arriving today," Lupin replied. "I wonder where they will put him. There aren’t many spare beds at the moment."

Moody scowled. Lupin knew the answer perfectly well. Scrimgeour, on the other hand, was oblivious to Lupin’s feint.

"You’re right, Lupin. There are no spare singles, are there? Just… Merlin, Moody, does that mean he’ll have to share with you?"

"Who’s sharing with Moody?" asked Fred Weasley, who had just walked into the room.

"Severus Snape," Lupin said cheerfully, watching the boy’s face fall.

"Merlin’s balls, the greasy git? Really?"

"Be grateful you don’t have to share a room with him," Moody muttered.

"How long will that last I wonder?" Lupin said.

Moody tried glaring at Lupin, but the werewolf was completely immune to it by now. Already he was taking bets on how long Snape would last sharing with Moody (Fred charitably gave it a week while Scrimgeour gave it only three days). Now in a thoroughly foul temper, Moody summoned the _Daily Prophet_ which Scrimgeour had been reading and retreated behind its pages.

2.  
Moody was starting to think he would be grateful when Snape actually arrived. At least it would provide some distraction. Lupin had been insufferable all the way through the morning group exercise session. 

The sessions were annoying enough already, with an irritating young Healer who talked as if she was running a nursery school. They all had to practice basic wandwork to "get their magic moving" or some such nonsense, while performing a series of ridiculous movements, all to musical accompaniment. But the most humiliating aspect of it, the thing that made him want to stomp back to his room like a teenager, was the fact that it seemed to help. He was loathe to admit it, but he had limited control of his magic through his regrown right arm and the sessions seemed to be improving that control.

Lupin had kept up the discussion about how long Moody and Snape would last in the same room for most of the session. Ted Tonks had given it two weeks and Charity Burbage, who probably knew Snape the best of any of them from her years at Hogwarts, gave it eleven days. But then she had never shared a room with him. Only Lavender Brown had said nothing. She would, no doubt, wait to see what Lupin said, then agree with him.

The werewolf finally gave his opinion as they were heading through to lunch. He declared that he would give it five weeks, as he thought that the two of them would actually get on.

"You’ve got lots in common with Severus, Alastor. You’d be surprised. I think you’d enjoy being grumpy old bastards together."

"Less of the ‘old’, Lupin. I’m not decrepit yet. And anyway, Snape’s the same age as you."

"He’s always seemed old, though."

"So says the man who was wearing knitted vests at nineteen."

Lupin grinned and turned up his palm in defeat.

"You’ve got me there, Alastor," Lupin said, clearly undaunted. He then turned to Bathilda Bagshot, who, due to her advanced age, was exempt from the exercises. Since she had no idea what was going on most of the time, improving the strength of her magic wasn’t considered the safest idea.

"So, Batty, what do you think?"

"What is it, my boy? I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up."

The old woman peered at Lupin as if seeing him better would help her understand his words.

"Alastor and Severus sharing a room – how do you think they will get on?" Lupin said, speaking loudly and slowly.

Batty beamed.

"Oh, I think they’ll make a lovely couple."

Lupin only just managed to suppress his laughter, turning it into a strangled sounding cough. Burbage smirked, and the Weasley boy looked horrified.

"Ugh, that’s disgusting. Slimy old Snape. Just the thought of him… ew. Turns my stomach, that does. And we’re about to eat."

The boy plonked himself down onto one of the chairs and immediately gave lie to his previous statement by serving himself an enormous portion of shepherd’s pie. 

"Moody and Snape, eh?" Scrimgeour added. "I know you’ve got low standards, Moody, but that would be too low even for you."

Scrimgeour had an expression of triumph on his face. He had made his disapproval of Moody’s libertine reputation clear when he ran the Auror’s office and he hadn’t changed his opinion since the war. He had shared some of the more lurid stories of Moody’s past as well. It didn’t particularly bother Moody – he’d long ago given up caring what people thought of him – but it did cause trouble with some of the other residents. 

"Don’t be insulting, Alastor doesn’t have low standards," Lupin said, looking annoyed, although he was probably putting it on.

Lupin was one of the few who was neither shocked nor embarrassed by the stories Scrimgeour had shared. When the story had come out that he and Black, both just nineteen at the time, had had a fling with Moody, Lupin had merely shrugged his shoulder.

Fred Weasley, on the other hand, had been horrified to discover that his parents – who had both experienced rather sheltered upbringings – had spent a very educational weekend in Moody’s company when they were quite newly married. Scrimgeour, thankfully, wasn't aware that it had happened more than once. In fact, every couple of years the children who weren’t at Hogwarts were packed off to various relatives so that Moody could the Weasleys give what Molly gleefully referred to as a "refresher course".

"He does have low standards, Remus", Burbage said, patting Remus on the shoulder. "No offence to anyone here, or their relatives, but he’ll sleep with anyone who’s willing."

Lupin turned to her and gave one of his crooked smiles.

"Aren’t you just a little curious, Charity, as to why there are so many people who are willing though?" he said, raising his eyebrow.

Scrimgeour spat a mouthful of tea over his lunch at that, while Lupin’s face returned to a mask of innocence.

Moody helped himself to a serving of shepherd’s pie, watching closely as the Weasley boy shovelled his down, before carefully waving his wand over it to check it hadn’t been tampered with. Finally, he removed a vial from his robe and sprinkled a little over his plate. He inspected it closely before finally taking a mouthful.

He was just beginning to enjoy his meal when Scrimgeour piped up again. Moody scowled. Scrimgeour seemed to enjoy trying to get one-up on the man who had trained him when he was a new recruit.

"So, Lupin," Scrimgeour said, "maybe you should change your sweepstake to how long before Snape succumbs to Moody’s charm."

"I’m _not_ sleeping with him," Moody snarled, banging his fist on the table to make his point. "He’s a murdering Death Eater and he should be in Azkaban."

"He was on our side, Alastor," Lupin said, the humour gone from his voice. "He went through a lot to ensure that we were able to defeat Voldemort."

"Hogwash," Moody replied. "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Those spots don’t change and they don’t come off, you know."

"Perhaps it’s dragonpox, dear, if he has spots," Batty said. "I had it once, back in ‘36. Very nasty, too. Lots of people dead, especially pure-bloods. Things were never quite the same, you know."

Moody, for once, was grateful for her disjointed ramblings. It momentarily distracted Lupin, although unfortunately, it didn’t stop him.

"Alastor, Severus was awarded the Order of Merlin for his part in defeating Voldemort."

"First class," the Brown girl added.

"Not if I’d had my way," Moody snapped back, giving Lupin a dirty look. "Shacklebolt must’ve lost his mind."

The werewolf wisely decided not to continue the conversation, turning to Batty and asking about the 1936 dragonpox outbreak. His ability to listen to the woman’s long and involved stories never ceased to amaze Moody. Still, it kept the conversation away from Moody’s sex life and Snape, and for that he was grateful.

3.  
Moody hoped he would get to eat his lunch in peace, but that was not to be. He was only halfway through his shepherd’s pie when two Healers walked into the room. Between them was one Severus Snape.

Snape didn’t look like he was ready to be released from St Mungo’s. He was pale, not the pale of a man who lived in a castle dungeon and seldom saw the sun, but the pale of a man who had been dragged back from the brink of death and was not at all grateful for it. 

He was thin and hunched, and his hands trembled slightly. His eyes glanced around the room for a moment, then returned to the floor directly in front of him. Each step he took appeared to be an effort, and he looked as if he was being a stupid, stubborn bastard who was too weak to walk on his own, but refused any help. Moody didn’t allow himself to remember that he had arrived at the rehabilitation clinic with the same attitude.

Everyone turned to stare, except for Batty, who took a noisy slurp of tea then continued on with her meal. Tonks and Scrimgeour kept their faces very neutral. The Weasley boy looked at him with disgust, while the Brown girl stared, wide-eyed. Burbage’s face paled. Her lips were pressed together and she gripped her fork tightly. After a few awkward moments, Lupin pushed his chair back from the table and moved it over to sit in front of Snape.

"Severus, how are you? It’s good to see you."

Snape raised his eyes to look at the werewolf with undisguised loathing. He took a couple of breaths before speaking in a voice which sounded weak but, somehow, still dripped sarcasm.

"I wish I could share that sentiment, Lupin.."

Moody couldn’t hear Lupin’s response, but he was unlikely to be discouraged. In fact, Moody thought, Snape’s response might have quite the opposite effect on him. It might just be amusing, watching Lupin find someone else to annoy.

Lupin returned to the table, leaving the Healers to take Snape through to the bedrooms. _His_ bedroom, Moody remembered sourly.

"Charity, are you okay?" Lupin asked.

"I will be, I think. Just… Seeing him again. I thought it wouldn’t bother me. I thought I was over it. But it might take a bit longer, I suppose."

Tonks, who was sitting next to her, put an arm around Burbage and wrapped her in a hug.

"We are all here for you, Charity. We won’t let that bastard do anything."

Burbage shook her head.

"It’s not that. I know he wouldn’t… it’s just the memory of that night. But thank you."

The table descended into silence again as they all finished their meals without looking at each other. Moody suspected that everyone at the table was remembering something or other that they would prefer not to.

The afternoon remained pleasantly Snapeless. Moody avoided their shared bedroom and Snape didn’t leave the room, which suited Moody just fine. Afternoons were usually occupied with group or individual therapy sessions of one sort or another before the highlight of the day, visiting time. Not that anyone came just to see Moody, but a few of the visitors were people he was happy to see.

Nymphadora Tonks – he would never think of her as Nymphadora Lupin – arrived first, accompanied by her mother and with her baby in her arms. She would plonk the baby in Lupin’s lap and leave him to it for twenty minutes or so. It would be some time before it would be possible to distract the man from cooing and gooing at his son. Tonks the younger would mostly divide her time between her father and her husband, but she made time for her mentor as well.

She walked over to him, raising her hand in a half-hearted way.

"Wotcher, Moody. Staying out of trouble?"

"I’m not the one that needs to stay out of trouble," Moody muttered to her. "You know what your husband’s been up to? He’s got a sweepstake on how long Snape and I will survive sharing a room."

"Really? Can anyone join? Remus, count me in."

"You wouldn’t dare," Moody said, slapping her playfully on the bottom.

"Oh, I would too," she said, with a mischievous grin. "Darling, is anyone down for two weeks?"

"Your father."

"Hmm, how about three, then? I think I’ve got a higher opinion of Moody than Dad has."

She glanced across at her father, the same grin on her face. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. The revelation that both his daughter and his daughter’s husband had slept with the former Auror had shocked the elder Tonks. It didn’t help that both Lupin and his wife began joking that they might be up for a threesome when both Lupin and Moody were recovered enough.

"Three weeks it is, love. Do you have any Sickles now?"

The Weasleys arrived to visit their son next. Arthur was friends with most of the residents and the pair were usually the last to leave. Molly always seemed to find time to flirt with Moody, much to the horror of her son. Moody suspected that she enjoyed shocking him.

One of the Burbage woman’s daughters turned up with a couple of snot-nosed grandchildren, as well as the Brown girl’s parents and Rufus Scrimgeour’s wife. Moody had hoped that the bustle of visitors would be a distraction from the presence of Snape, but most of them wanted to comment on it. The comments ranged from sentiments he thoroughly agreed with – Burbage’s daughter thought the Dementor’s kiss too good for him – to naïve fools who considered the man a hero, such as Tonks the younger, who, of course, agreed with her husband.

"He went through a lot to help the Order, Moody. I think it’s doubtful we would have won without his help. He made some mistakes when he was younger, and I admit he isn’t very likeable, but you should be more forgiving."

Moody gave her a dirty look. He expected her to have more sense. She should have known by now that he was not a forgiving man.

4.  
The Death Eater himself stayed out of sight until dinner. They were mostly seated already when he walked into the room, accompanied by a Healer. The Healer wasn’t physically dragging him, but looked like she was considering it.

"Severus," Lupin said, waving his good arm, "over here."

Lupin gestured to the empty seat next to him. Snape looked as if he would rather swallow live flobberworms than sit beside the werewolf, but then an expression of resignation came over his face and he shuffled over to the offered seat. The only other spare seat was beside Charity Burbage and he was unlikely to be welcomed there.

Moody kept his eye on Snape throughout supper. He ate very little, despite Lupin piling food on his plate and trying just about everything to coax him to eat, short of actually shoving food down his throat. The Death Eater said nothing, never lifting his eyes from the table. As soon as the Healer allowed him to, he left the table and shuffled back to the bedroom.

Moody managed to put off the evil moment for another couple of hours by challenging Scrimgeour to a game of chess – which Scrimgeour lost, to Moody’s satisfaction. It wasn’t that Moody resented Scrimgeour for rising higher than him – he would have loathed the toadying and fawning that such jobs required – or his relentless social climbing, but once he had reached a certain level, Scrimgeour had taken a rather patronising attitude towards the man who had taught him everything he knew about hunting dark wizards. He would affect a look of faint disapproval at Moody’s drinking or language or sexual partners, as if he hadn’t had a mistress living in a flat off Knockturn Alley for half his married life and a stash of expensive Firewhisky in his office.

"So, you’ll be off to bed then, Alastor?"

The look on Scrimgeour’s face was definitely smug. With a grunt of acknowledgement – the comment didn’t deserve a response – Moody grabbed his stick, stood and limped to the bedroom.

The Death Eater was already in bed, his back to Moody, and the door.

"How did you even survive?" Moody said. "It clearly wasn’t constant vigilance."

Snape rolled onto his back and glared at Moody, but didn’t speak. They looked at each other in awkward silence until Moody finally spoke up again.

"If I had my way, Snape, you’d be locked up in Azkaban."

"It’s lucky for me then, I suppose," Snape replied in a venomous voice, "that nobody thought to appoint _you_ Minister of Magic."

The insolent look on Snape’s face seemed to imply that Moody would have wanted to be Minister of Magic.

"Not bloody likely," Moody snarled back. "You think I’d actually want to prance around in those fancy ceremonial robes and grovel for votes?"

"No," Snape said, his expression shifting to something more calculating. "Head of the Auror’s office would’ve been more your thing, wouldn’t it? You trained the last three heads, didn’t you? I’d have thought you had the experience and skills…"

"Never liked the idea," Moody snapped. "I couldn’t stand to be a pen pusher. I’m not a toadying little tufthunter like Scrimgeour or Robards. I’d loathe having to–"

"Or your father," Snape said.

"What? Don’t you, don’t you dare…"

"He was head of the Auror Office, wasn’t he? Fair few years ago now, I believe."

Before he realised it, Moody had jabbed his wand so close to Snape’s face it was almost up his nose. For a moment, he imagined he might curse the Death Eater. That would have done them all a favour. Then he realised that the "Rehabilitation wands" they were assigned were capable of nothing more powerful than levitating a cup of tea across the room. 

Snape seemed to know that too. There was an unpleasant smile on his face.

Moody turned away, grabbing his stick and stumping from the room, slamming the door after him. He had forgotten just how clever Snape was. He had no idea how the greasy bastard even knew about his father, but he had carefully wound Moody up before dropping that little bomb into the conversation. 

Now, Moody wanted to punch something – preferably Snape’s face, but even the wall looked tempting. He took a couple of deep breaths. He was not his father. He wasn’t going to start shouting and throwing punches. He wasn’t going to let that Death Eater get the better of him.

5.  
It was at least half an hour before Moody was calm enough to return to the room. He had found Lupin in the lounge, staring out at the nearly full moon, no doubt feeling sorry for himself. Moody was grateful for the company, and Lupin was discreet enough not to ask Moody if he was alright or mention Moody’s loathsome roommate. Instead, he acted as if he was grateful to Moody for keeping him company.

When Moody returned to the room, Snape appeared to be asleep. Moody grabbed his pyjamas and dressing gown, and walked to the bathroom to change. He wasn’t undressing in front of the Death Eater, asleep or not.

Snape hadn’t moved by the time Moody had changed. His breathing was slow and steady, and mercifully quiet. Perhaps, unlike Scrimgeour, the man would prove less obnoxious asleep than awake.

That impression lasted until Moody was woken by Snape crying out "no, no" and whimpering like a dog.

"Shut up, Snape, nobody wants to hear your whining" Moody said, but his words made no impression. Snape kept up the noise.

"For Merlin’s sake, man, pull yourself together," Moody said, a bit louder.

He grabbed his wand and conjured enough light to see. Snape was moving slightly, but his eyes were closed. Moody realised he was having a nightmare. Perhaps Snape’s conscience was doing what the Wizengamot would not.

When Moody shared a room with Scrimgeour, he had just been released from St Mungo’s and could barely manage a faint _Lumos_ , let alone a silencing spell. It made the former Minister’s snoring intolerable. But he was much stronger now.

He raised his wand.

" _Silencio_."

Snape’s lips were still moving, but he wasn’t making a sound. Perfect. Moody rolled over and went back to sleep.

In the following days, Moody made it his strategy to ignore Snape. If he didn’t say anything to Snape, Snape didn’t say anything to him. Snape appeared to be trying to avoid saying anything to anyone, in fact. He never left the room except for meals, to use the toilet or when he was forced to by the Healers. It was inconvenient when Moody wanted to be in the bedroom, but it allowed Moody to avoid him.

Scrimgeour’s estimated time of three days passed. It gave Moody a perverse kind of satisfaction to prove him wrong.

"Well, Rufus, it seems you underestimated Alastor’s tolerance," Lupin said. "It’s been three days and nobody’s even cast a hex."

Lupin was being irritatingly cheerful. His son was in his lap, bouncing and giggling. The younger Tonks stood up from where she had been chatting to the elder Tonks.

"I knew you had it in you, Moody. You’re much more tolerant than people give you credit for."

"I’m not tolerant," he snapped back.

"Of course you are. You were ever so patient with me in training when I kept accidentally tripping over things and sending stray jinxes at you."

Snape, who had been dragged into the room by one of the Healers about half an hour earlier, was watching the conversation closely.

"Patient? It was all I could do not to body bind you and leave you tied to a pillar while I got on with teaching the ones who could actually point a wand accurately."

"Go on, Moody, you know you loved teaching me."

She got up and walked across to him. He reached out and pinched her bottom.

"You were the stubbornest and most difficult student I have ever had, Tonks."

"You shouldn’t let him do that, Dora," Lupin said, looking up from his son for a moment.

"It’s fine, Remus, honestly, he always does that."

"I know, he used to do it with Alice and Lily as well. It’s sexist and it’s 1996 now."

"Lupin, if you ever get yourself out of that chair, I promise I’ll pinch your arse too. Would that make you happier?"

"Moody, if I ever get to hold a proper wand again, I’ll hex boils on your bollocks."

Moody turned to Tonks the younger.

"What you were thinking, girl, marrying him, I’ll never know."

"Love you too, Moody," Lupin said as his wife rolled her eyes.

Snape saw everything, Moody noticed. His head was forward and his face shielded by his hair, but his eyes were missing nothing. Moody had the uncomfortable feeling that he was noting every little detail of Moody’s interactions with everyone and storing it up so that he could use it against him at some point in the future. Moody was going to have to be very careful.

6.  
After a few days of ignoring each other completely, never exchanging a word and not even looking at each other in their shared room, it was Moody’s own big mouth that broke the silence. It was stupid too. It wasn’t as if Lupin needed Moody to speak up and defend him. He was largely unfazed by the Death Eater’s insults, even when they shifted from rude to cruel. There was absolutely no reason for Moody to say anything.

But he did.

Lupin only sighed in response.

"It’s alright, Alastor. I’m well used to Severus and his little ways."

"No, it’s not. That comment about Black was completely out of line."

Lupin shook his head.

"Severus and Sirius did not get on–"

Snape interrupted with a derisive snort.

"A fact I am resigned to," Lupin continued. "Both of them bear some responsibility, but Sirius was cruel to Severus when they were younger, and Severus has every right to dislike him."

"I didn’t _dislike_ Black. I utterly loathed him. My only regret when he died was that his death was painless and I never had the chance to urinate upon his rotting corpse–"

"Enough," Moody snapped. "You keep your mouth shut, you filthy traitor. You have no right to speak like that about Black. He was a dedicated member of the Order and loyal servant of the light. You are vile, murderous scum, who spent his life grovelling before the foulest dark wizard of our time–"

"At least I’m not a pervert."

Snape spoke softly but, with his voice honed by years of teaching, his words were audible to everyone in the room.

"What?"

"You heard me, Moody. You’re a pervert. A lecherous, vulgar, depraved predator. I couldn’t believe it when Albus said he was bringing you into the school, and I should have realised it wasn’t you, because Crouch didn’t immediately start trying to seduce the students."

"I wouldn’t have done that," Moody replied, rising to Snape’s bait as indignation overtook common sense. "I’m not a predator. I enjoy sex with willing partners, certainly, but I have never forced or manipulated anyone."

"Really? You slept with Tonks when she was a trainee Auror. She was how old, again? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Twenty," Lupin answered, once again opening his big mouth when it didn’t help.

"And as for you…"

Snape turned to Lupin.

"You and Black. With Moody. That’s disgusting. Sick. He’s… how old? Ninety?"

Moody snorted.

"Seventy five," he said, unwisely. Snape turned to him again.

"Well, that makes it alright then, doesn’t it? Only seventy five. Which would make you seventy, maybe, when you seduced the twenty year old Tonks. That’s perverted. And you’d have been about fifty when you were seducing teenaged Lupin and Black. Disgusting."

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought, Snape. Find it quite fascinating, do you? Do you spend all your time imagining all the depraved things I must get up to? I’ll bet you do, in explicit detail, I’m sure. Bet you’re wanking to it."

"I most certainly do no such thing. That’s a revolting suggestion."

"Nothing wrong with it. It’s all perfectly natural."

"Hemlock is perfectly natural," Snape snarled back, before turning and stalking from the room.

7.  
Moody sulked after that particular argument. He hated it when Snape got the last word. It seemed to encourage Snape as well. He took every opportunity to hiss insults at Moody.

"You disgust me."

"Pervert."

"You’re sick."

"You’re revolting."

The insults didn’t really bother Moody. Snape struck him as a profoundly repressed man with a deeply unhealthy attitude to sex. He probably didn’t get many opportunities. The Healers made him bathe, but he did so only reluctantly, and his personality was as unattractive as his face. No wonder he had remained obsessed with Lily Potter for so many years. Who would have wanted him?

Moody didn’t improve the situation by pointing that out to Snape. 

On the other hand, he hated that Snape kept getting the last word. Moody wanted to see the bastard put in his place. That was also the reason he called Snape an uptight prude who wouldn’t know a clitoris from an arsehole. It earned him a telling off from Molly Weasley, who was visiting at the time, but it was worth it. That one shut Snape up for the rest of the day, and Moody was rather pleased with his triumph.

Although Lupin continued trying to be friendly to him, with little success, the other residents avoided Snape. He stalked around the unit glaring at people and seldom saying a word. His presence was uncomfortable for everyone, to the point that even Batty noticed the grim figure that almost everyone avoided.

"This place really has become remarkably progressive. First werewolves, and now a vampire. I never thought I’d see the day."

Burbage frowned slightly. They were eating breakfast and Snape had entered the room but refused to sit down, as the only available seat was between Moody and Burbage. He made himself coffee then stood where he could watch both doors.

"A vampire? I think you must be getting confused, Batty."

"Don’t patronise me, girl. I know a vampire when I see one. Look at him, that hollow, bloodless face, black hair, black robes–"

"That’s Severus, Severus Snape. He’s not a vampire."

Lupin was smirking.

"Severus, you might need to show Batty your teeth," he said, and Severus gave him a nasty scowl.

"Severus Snape?" Batty said. "You expect me to believe that’s Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore’s murderer? Don’t be absurd. If Snape’s not dead, he’s in Azkaban."

Snape flinched.

"It is Severus, Batty," Lupin replied. "He… He was on our side. Albus… He was dying. So having Snape… Well, it was all part of Albus’s plan."

Batty looked at Lupin, then turned her gaze back to Snape. For a moment her eyes seemed more focused, her expression rather more knowing.

"Yes… That does sound like Albus," she said quietly, her expression softening. "That must have been rather difficult for you, young man."

What little colour there was drained from Snape’s face. He dropped his head and stared at the floor, before finally murmuring under his breath.

"One of the hardest things I ever had to do."

He glanced up at Burbage and then glared down at his coffee.

Lupin looked awkwardly at an equally uncomfortable Fred. Ted began to push scrambled eggs around his plate. Lavender opened her mouth to speak before closing it again in a rare moment of common sense.

Snape put down his coffee and turned away. His effort at storming from the room was hampered by his slow, unsteady limp, but the message was clear.

Burbage gave a long sigh and stood. She appeared reluctant, but eventually followed after him.

"Well, that’s going to be an awkward conversation," Lupin said.

Scrimgeour looked up.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Lupin appeared as if he regretted bringing up the subject, but Tonks spoke instead.

"You didn’t hear what happened to her at Malfoy Manor? With the Death Eaters? Snape was there. I heard that she begged him to help her and he just stared back, saying nothing."

"Oh," Scrimgeour replied.

Nobody had anything to say to that and for a while, the only sounds in the room were forks and knives scraping against plates. The Weasley boy, the elder Tonks and Scrimgeour left the table soon after. Even Lupin was silent, until Burbage returned.

"Charity, are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded.

"We had a talk. I… I knew that he had to do what he did, that Albus had told him to maintain his cover at all costs, but… Well, it helped to hear him say it. It was good to see that he really did regret having to do that. It was good to hear him apologise."

Moody snorted.

"Don’t believe a word he says. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. He’ll say what he needs to say to stay out of Azkaban, but he won’t mean it."

"Did it ever cross your mind it might be time to let go? I’ve forgiven him for his mistakes. Perhaps it’s time you did as well."

"Never," Moody snapped back.

Burbage shrugged.

"No, I suppose you won’t. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit nicer to him. I know he can be nasty, but he’s a lot worse when he feels cornered. And I think he does find it hard here."

Moody gave another snort and got up from the table.

"I don’t think so," he muttered under his breath.

Still, Burbage’s words were in the back of his mind that night. 

As he did nearly every night, Snape woke Moody with his nightmares. It wasn’t really a problem, Moody just grabbed his wand and cast a silencing spell. But that night, he paused as he reached out with his hand. Snape was crying "no" and "please" over and over again, and thrashing one arm about. Then, as Moody’s hand hovered over his wand, Snape’s words changed.

"No, no, Albus. Please, no. I can’t. Please, no. Don’t ask that. Please Albus, please. I can’t."

Moody picked up his staff instead of his wand and reached across the gap between the beds. He jabbed Snape in the side with it.

"Oi, Snape, wake up."

Snape gave a startled yelp and opened his eyes.

"You were dreaming. Calling out. Woke me up. Shut up, will you."

"Oh."

Snape looked at Moody and then turned away. He might have been mistaken, but Moody might have heard the words "thank you".

8.  
If Moody had thought that Snape’s moment of apparent vulnerability would change things, he would have been wrong. Fortunately, he had held no such delusion. Snape wasn’t going to change, Moody knew that. And nor was he.

As time passed – Burbage was proved wrong, followed by the elder Tonks – Lupin continued to imply that Moody and Snape had so much in common and really should be getting on just swimmingly. 

Moody thought Lupin was delusional. He loathed Snape and Snape loathed him. Yes, they had shared a room for two weeks without killing each other, but that did not mean that they were getting along "just swimmingly".

"You protest too much, Alastor. You enjoy arguing with him."

"I do not," Moody replied, indignant. "I can’t stand the vile traitor."

Lupin shook his head, grinning.

"Maybe you think you don’t, but have you noticed how much better you are doing? You are so much better at the exercises than you were a couple of weeks ago. You have much more energy. I think you love having someone to argue with."

"I argue with you, Lupin, for all the good that’s done me."

"I don’t think you enjoy arguing with me as much as you enjoy arguing with Severus."

Lupin raised his eyebrow suggestively.

"I do _not_ enjoy arguing with that buttoned-up prude."

"Oh really? If you could see the look on your own face when you get the last word in one of your little spats, you might think differently. You find him a worthy opponent. I think you even respect him."

"Certainly not."

"You do. I can see it. Maybe you even rather like him."

Moody made a face.

"You’re disgusting, Lupin. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make such comments about Snape. You’ll put me off my dinner."

Lupin looked at Moody and raised one eyebrow.

"Alastor, I meant that you rather liked him in the way I ‘rather like’ Charity. Interesting that your mind went in a rather different direction. Do you _like_ him, Alastor?"

"Absolutely not. I loathe him. I’ve told you that."

Moody glared at Lupin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he should be laughing it off, but for some reason, he couldn’t. And he really didn’t want to explore the reasons why.

But now that Lupin had put the idea in his mind, it was damned hard to get it out. Moody most certainly didn’t fancy Snape, although he admitted that he was curious. 

The man was so austere and formal, buttoned into his heavy black robes even when he was a patient in a convalescent hospital. Unless he was completely losing his temper, everything about him was restrained and controlled. Moody could imagine him wanting to be tied up and spanked, perhaps wearing a leather corset or high-heeled boots or…

Moody quickly shoved the thought from his mind as he realised that his prick found the images quite arousing. Under his breath, Moody muttered about Lupin and his ridiculous comments.

It made arguing with Snape a little disconcerting afterwards. Moody started to notice things he hadn’t noticed about Snape before. He couldn’t say that Snape was an attractive man – in fact there were many unattractive things about him, from his disproportionate nose, to his awful, unwashed hair to his sour expression and ever sourer personality, but he definitely had something. There was that intense gaze, the curl of his lip when he tried to hide his amusement at one of Lupin’s jokes – admittedly when they were at Moody’s expense – his acidic sarcasm, and his voice. With a glare and a whisper, he could bring a room to silence.

Perhaps noticing all of that caused Moody to lower his guard. Perhaps it was because Snape was being particularly vicious. Or perhaps Moody was just tired. Whatever it was, Moody finally lost control.

He had been attempting to read before bed – Scrimgeour had lent him his copy of The Unauthorised History of the Wizengamot – when Snape decided to begin insulting him again. 

It had started off with the usual stuff. Snape had clearly scoured a Thesaurus for words to describe sexual profligacy and Moody could admit he found it more amusing than irritating. And then Snape crossed a line.

"What would your father think, knowing the kinds of things you’ve got up to. He’d be appalled, wouldn’t he? From what I’ve heard, his attitudes weren’t exactly progressive. He’d have been disgusted with you. He’d probably have disowned you."

Fury overcame Moody’s common sense, and he was on his feet in a moment. He stalked towards Snape, wand raised. Snape took a step back.

"He _did_ disown me, actually," Moody said, rage making his voice catch slightly. "Disowned me for marrying a Muggleborn. You know nothing about me, nothing, so you keep that filthy mouth of yours shut."

Moody had Snape pressed back against the wall now, one arm across the top of his chest, almost at his throat. The other arm held his wand to Snape’s temple. 

Moody saw a flicker of fear cross Snape’s face, but then it was gone and the sneering mask slipped back into place. Damn, the bastard Death Eater was hard to rattle. 

Then, driven by an urgent need to disquiet Snape as much as he had disquieted Moody, he ressed his lips to that filthy mouth in a rough kiss.

9.  
Snape went still. He did not pull away, although since he was pressed against the wall, that might have been difficult. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t shove Moody off him. He simply froze.

Moody made it good and long. He thrust his tongue into Snape’s mouth, giving it a thorough exploration, before pulling back to bite at his lips until he knew they would be red and swollen. Then he pulled back to enjoy the disgusted expression on Snape’s face. His flushed cheeks and wide pupils, as well as the signs of arousal Moody had felt as he had pressed against Snape, told Moody another story.

"I think you rather enjoyed that, didn’t you, Snape? Ever been kissed by a man before?" Moody growled.

Snape opened and promptly closed his mouth.

"I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Not the same as being kissed by a woman, is it?"

An expression flickered across Snape’s face. Moody narrowed his eyes. He had once found Snape difficult to read, but he’d noticed it becoming easier. Perhaps with the closer proximity he had learned more about him. Or perhaps, with Voldemort finally gone, Snape was beginning to let down his guard.

"Fuck, Snape. Have you ever been kissed by a woman?"

The flush of pink in Snape’s cheeks became a flaming scarlet from the neck of his robe to the tips of his ears and nose.

"Merlin’s hairy bollocks, Snape. You’re a virgin."

Moody couldn’t keep the triumph from his voice as the scowl on Snape’s face deepened, but he continued to stare defiantly into Moody’s eyes. Moody shook his head.

"No wonder you’re such a sour, grumpy bastard."

Snape’s gaze was unwavering, his lip curled into a snarl. He reminded Moody of a small dog on the verge of attack.

"What’s your excuse then, Moody?" Snape said. His voice dripped with all its usual venom, despite Snape’s obvious humiliation.

Moody was shocked for a moment, then he suddenly laughed.

"You, Snape, really are a piece of work."

He stepped back and gave Snape a punch on the arm, not hard enough to hurt. Snape glared back, not amused. Moody stepped back and sat down on his bed, still cackling. Bloody Lupin was right - he really did enjoy sparring with the former Death Eater.

"So, Snape, how is it that you are a virgin at… How old are you then? Forty something?"

"Thirty eight," Snape snapped back.

"Merlin, you’ve aged badly. So, how is it that you are a virgin at thirty eight?"

Snape shrugged and looked away.

"Don’t tell me you were so obsessed with Potter’s mother that you never touched anyone else. I don’t buy that, Snape. I know you’re a strange bastard, but that’s too obsessive, even for you."

"You know nothing about me."

"I know that saving yourself for a woman who’s been dead nearly two decades isn’t either normal or healthy."

"Do I strike you as either normal or healthy?"

Moody chuckled again, but he realised Snape wasn’t joking. He was sarcastic, certainly, but he wasn’t trying to amuse the former Auror. Moody felt his humour die, as he had a glimpse of the self-loathing that churned beneath the layers of spite and sarcasm. The way that Snape had responded to him, becoming aroused at his kiss, nagged at Moody as well.

"You’re not gay, are you, Snape? It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are."

"Don’t be absurd."

The Death Eater snapped back his denial, but Moody could sense the fear as he touched the truth.

"You are, aren’t you?"

A part of him wanted to crow with triumph as he uncovered Snape’s closely guarded secret. But another part, a part he kept well hidden, reminded him that the Death Eaters had not been exactly progressive in their attitudes. It would not have done for Snape to have a male lover. Nor would the board of Hogwarts have been impressed.

"I can see how you might have been… Constrained. But didn’t… You-know-who know? I thought he looked into your minds."

Snape looked at the ground, shoulders slumping.

"He knew," Snape mumbled, giving a sigh of resignation. "He liked that he knew, it gave him something else to hold over me. As long as I never actually did anything…"

"It’s not too late now. You aren’t that old. You could start exploring what you like, finding a partner or whatever you want."

Snape shook his head, looking away.

"I could help you, you know."

The words slipped out before he knew what he was saying. Snape looked at him as if Moody had grown an extra couple of heads."

"I’ve been with plenty of virgins. There’s a reason for that, and a reason that a lot of inexperienced witches and wizards sleep with me."

"Because you’re a perverted lecher who manipulates himself into their beds?"

"Because I’m good. Because I know how to give them a great experience, teach them what their bodies like, help them gain confidence."

"That’s very public spirited of you. I’m sure they are immensely grateful. I, however, would rather entrust my private parts to a horde of starving doxies than let you touch me."

Snape was spitting venom now, disgust on his face, leaning back slightly as if to escape from Moody’s presence. But Moody thought he had seen a glimpse of curiosity, or perhaps a flicker of desperation, in those dark eyes.

10.  
Moody wasn’t quite sure when they began to flirt.

It started out with Moody propositioning Snape in front of the other residents, watching him squirm with embarrassment. Moody might have felt a little sorry for him, but not that sorry when the man was being such a bastard. Snape would rebuff Moody with disgusted sneering and indignation. Lupin encouraged Snape to take up the offer with lurid (and often exaggerated) comments on Moody’s prowess and Snape would storm off – or at least limp away.

But after a while, Snape stopped fleeing and began to bite back.

"So, Snape, fancy a quick fuck after lunch? You look tense, nothing a good buggering wouldn’t fix though."

The Brown girl and the Weasley boy looked horrified. They didn’t have any right to - they’d been shagging in the room Weasley shared with Lupin while Lupin, clearly relieved that Brown had stopped following him around like a cub, discreetly stayed away.

"I’d rather be impaled by an erumpent," Snape shot back, and Lupin snorted tea through his nose.

"I think you’ll find I’m better endowed and rather more skilful."

"I’ll have to decline that particular pleasure, _Alastor_."

The former Death Eater had also taken a leaf from the werewolf’s book and had started to call Moody by his first name when he wanted to be particularly annoying. Altogether, he was looking much healthier and happier.

"You don’t know what you’re missing, _Severus_."

"I think I’ll survive."

Snape began to come back with increasingly vulgar responses, perhaps encouraged by the responses of his fellow residents. Scrimgeour enjoyed it of course, since he was getting at Moody, but the elder Tonks had also stopped being shocked and began reporting on some of the encounters to his daughter. Moody initially thought that Burbage was horribly offended, but then he realised that she was hamming up the prissy school-marm act and that she was more entertained than bothered.

The day that Snape described, in explicit detail, what he would prefer to do with Nagini rather than have sex with Moody stood out. Even Batty understood that one. Moody himself stayed sitting at the table for some time after lunch ended, waiting for the evidence to pass of just how interesting he’d found Snape’s description. It wasn’t just the description, though, it was the way he said it, in that _voice_ , occasionally licking his lips as he paused.

Moody had resolved to talk to Molly and Arthur when they next visited. He was sure they would be willing to help take care of his problem. It had been too long and he was clearly getting desperate. He was in dire need of a shag. That was, without doubt, the reason that having sex with Severus Snape was seriously starting to look appealing.

It wouldn’t be today though. Molly and Arthur had taken Lupin and Snape, along with their son, to a memorial service that Harry was having for his parents at Godric’s Hollow. Moody was surprised Harry had asked Snape, but then, the boy was full of surprises. 

The first of them being that he was still alive. The second of them being that he’d been the one to keep Snape out of Azkaban. Moody suspected that the lad had lost his mind in the final battle with Voldemort, but he kept his mouth shut on that topic. He knew better than to criticise anything that the hero of the wizarding world said or did.

Lupin returned looking subdued. He forced a smile onto his face at dinner but had little to say. Snape was worse. His face was ashen and he said nothing. He stared at his plate and picked at the food, much like he’d done when he first arrived.

"What’s up with him?" Scrimgeour asked. He generally avoided saying anything directly to Snape.

Snape stayed silent.

"Just a bit of a rough afternoon, Rufus," Lupin said. "A lot of painful memories."

"Especially that it was his fault, no doubt," Scrimgeour said, looking again at Snape, who abruptly pushed his chair back and left the table.

"It was painful for both of us," Lupin said, with a hard edge to his voice. "I don’t want to discuss it."

Moody watched Snape retreat, realising that a few weeks ago he would have been the one to bring up Snape’s role in the death of the Potters. Merlin, he was going soft.

He found Snape in their room later, sitting motionless on the edge of his bed. Moody almost asked if he was alright, before stopping himself. That probably wouldn’t have helped.

"You look like shit, Snape."

Nothing. Just the blank stare.

"You planning on sitting there all night, like someone petrified you?"

A faint sigh.

"You fancy a fuck? Nothing like a cock up your arse to make you forget everything."

That was sure to get a reaction, Moody thought.

Snape looked up, giving Moody a rather blank look.

"Why not?" he said, and stood up, beginning to remove his clothes.

That hadn’t been a reaction Moody expected.

"You sure, Snape? You’re obviously upset."

"Just get on with it."

"I’m not going to take advantage of you. You’re upset."

"It’s really quite simple, Moody. You offered to fuck me. I said yes. I’m not drunk. I haven’t been inhaling or drinking questionable potions, I’m not under any curse. I…"

Snape’s defiant attitude seemed to wither.

"I just want… need… something. Please."

"Well," Moody said, "Since you ask so nicely."

11.  
Moody stepped close and placed his hand on Snape’s shoulder. He remembered their last kiss, and raised his other hand to brush Snape’s cheek. The he moved his head in and gave Snape a brief, gentle kiss before pulling back.

"You can do better than that, can’t you?" Snape sneered.

"Turn around," Moody growled.

Snape turned and Moody moved closer again so his chest was against Snape’s back. He pulled back the curtain of black hair on one side and began to kiss Snape’s neck. Snape stood stock still, not responding in any way. Moody found it uncomfortable and distinctly unarousing, but he suspected that Snape was nervous as well as upset. So he kept going. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t dealt with nervous virgins before.

Moody snaked one arm around Snape’s body and began tugging the buttons of his robe. He slid his hand inside, unbuttoning the shirt he wore underneath, before gently brushing his fingers against Snape’s chest as he kissed his neck. When he grasped one nipple, Snape gave a gasp.

"That’s a bit more like it. Can’t stand there like a statue the whole time."

Moody moved his lips up Snape’s neck and on to his jaw. His hand, in the meantime, had undone enough of Snape’s buttons to push his robe off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He continued unbuttoning Snape’s shirt, but let it remain on. He knew enough not to strip away all of Snape’s armour.

Snape went still again and Moody moved his lips to Snape’s earlobe. The skin was softer than he expected and he tried biting it, not too hard.

"What are you doing?"

Snape’s voice had an anxious edge.

"Stop thinking and just feel," Moody replied, sliding both hands around to undo Snape’s trousers and slide them down over his hips.

He brought his own hips in close, letting Snape feel his arousal. A faint whimper escaped Snape’s lips.

"You like that, don’t you," Moody said, pressing harder as he held Snape’s hips with both hands. When Snape said nothing, Moody spoke again.

"You like my cock, don’t you, Snape?"

Snape made a strangled sound which might have been "yes".

"Lie down on your bed," Moody whispered. When Snape hesitated, he added, "on your back."

Snape lay down, arms at his sides, legs straight and pressed together. In his unbuttoned shirt and underwear, he should have looked debauched. Instead, he just looked worried.

Moody banished his own clothes to a neat pile on his bed and sat down beside Snape. He placed one hand on the pale chest, just below the collarbone, a light, reassuring touch. 

One part of his mind was sharply reminding him that this was Severus Snape, dark wizard, Death Eater, Dumbledore’s killer. But the other part had started to see another side, a man of fierce intelligence, sharp wit and hidden vulnerability.

"You’re too tense right now, Snape. You’re not going to be able to do anything much until you relax."

"And what do you propose I do about that?" Snape replied, pushing himself up on one elbow, wriggling away from Moody and towards the head of the bed.

"You? Nothing. I’ll suck on your cock and we’ll see how that goes. I think you’ll find that relieves some of your… tension."

Snape’s face flamed red, and he looked away.

Moody leaned over, taking his weight on one elbow, bringing his face to Snape’s groin.

"Are you ready, Snape? You know I’ll stop any time you ask?"

"Just get on with it."

Moody watched Snape’s face shift from anxious to surprised as he took him into his mouth. He almost expected a sarcastic comment, but Snape very quickly became incapable of coherent speech. Moody made it nice and slow, maintaining complete control as Snape surrendered to him, arching his back, writhing, moaning, shuddering and finally sinking back, breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, he looked drugged, with his dazed expression and his wide pupils.

Moody pushed himself up the bed until their bodies were aligned and gave Snape a brief kiss.

"How was that?"

Snape appeared to have been silenced. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Good, then?"

Snape nodded.

"You believe Lupin now? When he said that nobody sucks a cock like me."

Snape’s lip twitched. He was trying not to smile.

"I can do better though. Thought you might be a little startled if I slipped a finger up your arse and started tickling your prostate on your first time. But… Maybe later."

Wide-eyed, Snape was staring at Moody in shock.

"You… you what?"

"Next time, I’ll stick a finger up you while I’m sucking you. Got to get you loosened up if you are serious about me taking you up the arse."

Snape took a deep breath and seemed to recover a little of his composure.

"You’re talking as if I’m going to give you more than one chance."

"Snape, I can assure you, one time with me will _not_ be enough."

12.  
"Alastor, how’s your wandwork coming along?"

At breakfast the next morning, a breakfast in which Snape had looked a little the worse for wear, Lupin had been particularly cheerful. He kept looking at Moody with half a smirk on his face. Now, after the dishes had been cleared away, he cornered Moody for a "little chat".

Moody frowned at him.

"You’ve seen. Pathetic, but not completely useless."

"How are your silencing spells?"

"Tolerable."

Lupin raised one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"In that case, I suggest you make use of them next time," Lupin said.

Moody kept his face impassive but felt his stomach sink. Now that he thought about it, he had no memory of casting any silencing spells the previous night. Snape had become more relaxed – and more vocal – as the night had gone on. And Lupin and Weasley were in the next room.

Lupin patted Moody on his arm and turned away to annoy someone else, while Moody wondered how he was going to tell Snape. He couldn’t believe his own mistake. He was always careful about that kind of thing. It wasn’t that he cared about being discreet – he wasn’t ashamed of having sex with Snape despite his oft-expressed opinion of the former Death Eater. But Snape would be mortified, and Moody realised that how Snape felt mattered to him.

Lupin was now speaking to Snape. Dear Merlin, Snape would kill Moody. Or maybe he’d kill Lupin first for hearing and then Moody. And presumably the Weasley brat would have heard as well, so Snape would kill him too. What if Weasley had already told the Brown girl. There was going to be a massacre.

Moody walked over to face his fate.

Lupin was telling Snape a story about his son’s attempts to crawl. He seemed to think that basic locomotion was an achievement at the level of passing NEWTS.

"Ah, Alastor, have you come to offer to further Severus’ sexual education again?"

Moody wrapped his hand around his wand and wondered whether he was capable of conjuring shielding spells.

"I’d rather insert flobberworms into my anus," Snape replied, his usual sneer on his face and with no sign of discomfort of embarrassment.

A slow grin spread across Moody’s face as he realised he needed his wits rather than his wand.

"I can offer you something much larger and harder," he said, turning the grin into a leer.

Snape fixed him with a condescending stare.

"I would have thought that the experiences were similar, except that a flobberworm has more charm," he replied.

Moody saw, for the first time since the war, the Severus Snape who had deceived the entire wizarding world – apart from Albus Dumbledore – about his true loyalties. There was no sign on Snape’s face that the previous night had even happened. He responded to Moody in exactly the same way as he had been yesterday or the previous week. Nobody was going to find out from Snape about what they had done the previous night.

It looked like nobody was going to find out from Lupin either. That evening, Moody decided he’d have to admit that he’d forgotten to use any silencing spells and that Lupin had heard.

"You forgot."

Snape did not look impressed.

"I’m sorry. I’m usually very careful about that kind of thing."

"What you usually do isn’t the point though, is it?"

Moody looked at the floor. Snape hadn’t killed him yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

"So, Lupin knows."

Moody nodded.

"The Weasley brat?"

"Apparently not. Lupin said Weasley was with the Brown girl and by the time he came back Lupin had managed his own silencing spell."

Snape was still trying to look annoyed, but Moody could see relief in his eyes.

"I suppose Lupin knows how to keep a secret," Snape said. "Be grateful it wasn’t Scrimgeour next door."

Moody gave a slight shudder.

"And next time," Snape said, with the faintest twitch of his eyebrows, "you had better be more careful."

Moody reached for his wand.

"When you say next time… what did you have in mind?"

Snape’s cheeks took on a faint hint of colour as he moved in closer, reaching out his hand and touching Moody’s arm. Then he stepped back again and began to unbutton his robe.

Moody lifted his wand.

" _Silencio_."

13.  
Moody fingered the hip flask in his hands. It was pewter and engraved with protective runes which would prevent anyone that Moody hadn’t approved from touching it. On contact with sixteen different types of poison, it would change colour, depending on the poison. It was both beautifully crafted and skilfully charmed. Albus Dumbledore had given it to him more than forty years ago, when Moody had helped to take down a Dark Wizard determined to destroy Hogwarts.

It was also, when combined with the correct incantation, one of only three Portkeys to the retirement home he had been quietly constructing on South Uist. He had never spent more than a week or two there in a year, not wanting to draw attention to the place. But now Voldemort was gone for good, Moody had decided enough was enough. It was time to quietly disappear from the notice of the wizarding world.

Snape was late returning to the room that evening. He’d been unusually quiet since he’d heard that Moody was being released. He had pointedly challenged Burbage to a game of chess when Moody mentioned he needed to get on with his packing. By the time Snape returned, Moody had packed all but the few essentials he would need the following morning and had been sitting on the edge of his bed in his pyjamas and dressing gown for twenty minutes. He had tried reading, but found himself unable to concentrate, so returned to holding the hip flask and wondering what to do.

Really, he told himself, there was no reason he couldn’t owl Snape. Or that Snape couldn’t owl him. It would be no trouble for Snape to Apparate to Iochdar and for Moody to meet him there. But Moody had a feeling that if he let Snape get away, he’d be gone for good. Confined to the same room, the first traces of trust had begun to develop between the two suspicious, paranoid and wounded men. But once on his own again, Snape, he suspected, wouldn’t believe that Moody might want to see him again.

"Finished packing?"

"All done. I’ve just got a few things like clothes I’ll need for tomorrow that I haven’t packed."

Snape nodded and stood in the middle of the room without saying anything.

"You’ll be out of here before too long yourself," Moody said, when he realised that Snape was just going to stand there.

Snape shrugged in response.

"Hmm."

"When you are, I was thinking…"

Moody looked down at the hip flask.

"I was thinking it would be nice to see you."

Snape looked at Moody and scowled.

"You’ve been in here too long, Moody. Nobody sane thinks it is nice to see me."

"You might have a point, Snape. But it would be nice to fuck you again. I imagine I’ll miss your tight arse after a while. And I do enjoy a good game of chess against a competent opponent. You’ve saved me from those endless games against Scrimgeour where he’d take fifteen minutes to decide on his move and it would still be stupid."

That brought a small smile to Snape’s face. It had been nearly a month since Snape had begun to hover near Moody when he was playing chess against Scrimgeour. After a couple of games, Snape began to offer a commentary on their technique, criticising their moves and generally being a patronising git. 

Of course, Moody had to challenge him to play after that. And Snape had soundly beaten him. Since then, they played a game, sometimes two, every day. Moody won one game out of three, if he was lucky.

"You realise that means I’ll probably have to play the bastard."

"Think if it as motivation to recover enough to be released. Once you are, you can come and play me again."

Moody thrust the hip flask towards Snape, looking at the floor.

"It’s a Portkey," he mumbled. "If you say _Uibhist a Deas_ while you hold it, you’ll end up near my cottage."

The expression on Snape’s face didn’t change.

"Cottage," he said.

"I’ve been restoring an old crofter’s cottage."

Moody raised his wand and cast a quick silencing spell.

"It’s… it’s on South Uist. My daughter lives just over the hill, but apart from her and her family, there’s nobody for miles. It’s tucked away out of the worst of the wind and it’s a short walk to the beach. You’d like it, I think."

Moody watched Snape’s face closely. This time, he saw something; a faint widening of his eyes in surprise. However good Snape’s knowledge was, however extensive his research or helpful his contacts, it was unlikely he would have been able to find out about Moody’s daughters. He would certainly not have been able to find out that one of them was still alive.

"South Uist. Isn’t that Orkneys?"

"Hebrides. Outer. Very remote."

"I can see the appeal."

"My wife came from there."

It was possible that Snape would have known about Beathag. Moody had inadvertently mentioned her to Snape and Albus had known of her existence and her death, although he had never met her.

"Hence your daughter living there?"

"She didn’t grow up there. When she finished school she decided to live with her grandparents. Live as a Muggle. Married a local lad. They have a farm."

"I don’t recall seeing any record of Moody children attending Hogwarts in the last half-century."

"Beauxbatons. And they never carried my name. Things were… Well, you know what pure-blood families can be like."

His father had thrown a fit at what he considered to be Mudblood children bearing the Moody name. Moody hadn’t objected to them bearing their mother’s name.

"I admit I find myself surprised you were married. Who’d marry you?"

"Fellow Auror. She died years ago."

Moody felt as if he wanted to run, or at least limp, from the room. Instead he stood, face impassive as Snape stared at him through narrowed eyes. There was more to the story, of course, but Moody wasn’t sure how much he was prepared to reveal.

"Her name was Beathag," he said, finally.

"Must have been fun for her at school, with a name like that. Did she go to Hogwarts?"

Moody allowed a faint smile to cross his face.

"Aye. She did have a little trouble. But she was… Spirited. Gave me no end of trouble when I was a prefect."

"No more than you deserved, no doubt."

"No doubt indeed."

Moody pushed the hip flask at Snape again, touching Snape’s hand with it. The pale, bony fingers closed around it.

"Just… just come, alright? Don’t make this the last time."

14.  
Moody was walking across the fields, preceded by two old sheepdogs from his daughter and son-in-laws’ farm. They had been getting too old to chase around after the sheep – both were arthritic, one blind in one eye – but they still had some life in them yet. 

His daughter had insisted he take them "for company", but he grumbled that she wanted them out of the way because they were old and useless. Miona had commented that that made them perfect for him, and thrust a couple of tatty dog blankets into his arms. He did still complain to her about them shedding black and white hair everywhere, but they both knew he was rather fond of them. They walked ahead of him wherever he went, looking back to check he was still there, and then jumped on his bed and slept on his feet at night.

They were great watchdogs too. They began to bark precisely two seconds before he felt someone come through his wards. There weren’t many people it could be, his daughter, son-in-law, or one of their children. Al had come home after spending several months backpacking in Asia. He walked over to see his grandfather most days, so it could be him. Unless it was… Moody took a breath. Unless it was Severus Snape.

He quickened his pace as the dogs ran ahead. They weren’t trotting happily as they did when it was family; it was more of a suspicious stalking, running a little, then dropping to watch. Moody pulled out his wand. Perhaps it was Snape, or perhaps someone else had found a way through the tightest defences this side of Azkaban.

When Moody cautiously rounded the side of his cottage, he saw a black-clad figure standing by his door. The dogs were crouched about a metre away, positioned so one could go after him whichever way he tried to escape. Snape was holding his wand, eyeing the dogs warily.

"Sorry about the dogs, Snape. They’re very alert."

"Sound like your kind of dogs then. Constant vigilance?"

Moody grinned.

"Aye, although if they saw a sheep they’d be out of here. Far more exciting than former Death Eaters."

"I’ll bear that in mind."

Moody let Snape into the house and offered him the only chair not covered in dog hair. The old crofter’s cottage was larger inside than it looked – Miona might have rejected the magical world herself, but she didn’t object if her father applied a little magical masonry to the old stones. 

The original cottage had been a single room, but Moody had added two separate bedrooms, enlarged the sitting room and kitchen, and had installed a luxurious bathroom. There was also a spare room out the back, currently used for old trunks and the boxes of books he hadn’t found shelves for yet. It had crossed Moody’s mind that it might do for a small workshop, but he hadn’t got around to that.

"How long have you been out?"

"A week."

"Where did you stay? I heard Spinner’s End was…"

Snape sighed.

"The Lupins’ couch."

"Merlin’s balls, that must have been fun. You didn’t hex any of them?"

Snape shook his head.

"If I’d stayed another day, I might have."

"Did you recover anything from Spinner’s End? Any of your things?"

Snape looked at the ground and shook his head.

"All destroyed."

Moody moved over to him and handed him a cup of tea, laced with some of the local whiskey.

"Here, get that into you."

Snape put the cup to his lips and swallowed most of it.

"Thanks," he said, slightly hoarse from the burn of the whiskey.

"Do you have plans?"

Snape shook his head again.

"You know you are welcome to stay here. Plenty of space. You’ll get used to the dogs. There’s a room out back which would make a perfect potion workshop."

Snape looked up. There was a wariness on his face, as if he wasn’t quite sure the offer was real.

"I wasn’t sure if you would want to see me," he said, before looking back down. "But then… Well, you gave me a Portkey. I thought that perhaps it meant you did want to see me. Or at least, you would want the Portkey back."

"You’re a daft bugger, Snape… Severus. Do you think I hand out Portkeys to my home to everyone, just on the off chance they might like to drop by? I didn’t think you were quite that stupid."

Snape looked at the ground, his face flushing slightly.

"I thought you might change your mind. You know, once you were back with your family."

"I know what I want, Snape."

Moody walked up and took Snape’s hand, pulling him to his feet. With the other hand he tilted Snape’s chin up so he could look into those dark, brooding eyes.

"And what’s that then, Moody? Do you have something specific in mind?"

"I’ve got a few ideas," Moody growled back. "Right now, I want to take you to my bed and suck you until you scream, before fucking you senseless. In a proper bed. Without bloody Lupin and the Weasley boy in the next room. Then, when I wake up in the morning, I’d like another go. There’s a few other locations I’d like to try around the place too. On the sofa in front of the fire, bent over the kitchen table…"

Moody leaned in, pulling Snape’s body close to his.

"I’m sure you get the idea," Moody whispered, letting his lips brush Snape’s ear.

"And then what?"

"I suppose we will have to see, Snape. How about where just take it from there and see what happens?"

Moody felt Snape relax against his body. The dark head nodded into his shoulder.

"Alright."

Moody wrapped his arms around tight, holding Snape, former Death Eater, former spy, former enemy, in his arms. He looked up at the photograph on the mantle above the fire. It was his favourite photo of Beathag, even though she was usually frowning and often rolling her eyes at him. It showed the blazing intensity of her spirit which had drawn him to her in the first place.

But this time she had a different expression. Her face was softer, affectionate, as she had been with the children or in her more tender moments with him. She smiled, and then she gave a faint nod. Moody closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of Snape’s hair. They would see what happened. But Moody was sure that, whatever that was, it would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2018 Harry Potter Cross Gen Fest. The author will be revealed on August 31.


End file.
